


Lassus.

by Walden_Pond221



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walden_Pond221/pseuds/Walden_Pond221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lassus: adj. (latin) weary, faint, tired. Even heroes need someone to lean on sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lassus.

     If there was one thing in this life John Constantine hated it was handcuffs. Pulling his arms up from the table his wrists chafed at the manacles. 

“Can I get out of here now?” He groaned. The patrolman sitting across from the demonologist regarded him with a blank expression. 

“No. We’re going to have to hold you for the night Mr-“ he checked the notes on his clipboard, “Constantine.”

“Look mate, I told you and your buddies before I didn’t do anything!” he shouted. 

“First off I am not your “mate”. Second. We have video evidence of you walking into that bar and walking out with the place ablaze behind you.”

John rested his head on the cool aluminum table.’ _Goddamit_ ’ He was tired of fighting tonight. If it wasn’t fire spitting demons in bars or ruining Chas’s date it was this. God, if this wasn’t rock bottom it was surely starting to look like it. 

“You’ll be spending the night in jail Johnny boy.” 

     A little later John sat in the corner of the holding cell, moonlight spilling onto the cold floor. Before he bashed his head in on the concrete corner he picked himself up. Pockets devoid of any useful object or vice he paced the length of the cell, growing ever more restless with every step.  

“Hey!” he bellowed through the bars at the sleepy policeman at the desk. His head shot up at the noise. 

“Huh?”

“Yes! You!”

“What is it jailbird?” the officer sneered. 

“Don’t I get a phone call or somethin’?”

The officer sighed.  
“Yeah, I guess.” he grumbled, opening the cell. Stepping out of a piss smelling concrete box to an artificially lemon scented linoleum hallway wasn’t much of a step up but compared to the night he’d been having it was enough. 

“You’ve got five minutes. Better make ‘em count.”

John grumbled a few choice words for the officer as he picked up the phone and dialed home. 

“This better not be you John.” Chas rumbled, his voice whiskey rough.  

John rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against the wall. “I need your help mate.”

Chas sighed heavily. “What could it possibly be?” 

“I’m in jail.”

“Jesus John. Haven’t you caused enough trouble tonight?”

“‘m sorry.” he mumbled, blood rushing to his face. He felt ashamed, pulling Chas down again tonight. 

“It’s fine. I’ll be there in ten. Try not to light the place on fire okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Good.” 

The line clicked and Constantine was alone. He hung the phone up and rubbed his tired eyes. He didn’t know quite what time it was but his biological clock told him it was late. Sleep clung to ankles as he dragged his tired frame back into the cold cell. Sitting on the bench he could feel his eyes began to close, his head nod, and his heartbeat slow. The semi-conscious state he floated in was nice and he prayed it would last. God he hoped those nightmares wouldn’t seep in again and throw him to the floor, begging for death. ‘ _So far, so good._ ’ His mind was dark and quiet. Almost peaceful. But of course it couldn’t last. His good dreams, and lack thereof never would. Flashing colors, sounds, and scattered memories surrounded him. He could feel the dark waters rising to his chest. Images flashed in his mind’s eye. Astra being pulled down into that pit again and again. His father’s murderous look in those glassy blue eyes. He saw Gary seizing violently and hopelessly begging for a quicker death. He saw himself kneeling in the mud at his mother’s grave, silent tears leaking down the sides of his face. He could feel his bones creak and whinge at an invisible strain that boiled his blood. 

     He stared down his opponent. Both he and the monster were on their last legs, each about to drop at any moment. In the demonologist’s hands was a flint tipped spear. A combination of sweat and blood dripped into his eyes and he wiped it away with the back of his filthy hand. The monster snorted, reared its head and began to charge. Inside this dimly lit arena their shadows danced along the dirt floor. John’s just a smidge compared with the minotaur like creature’s massive outline. 

“Fuck.” he cursed as the monster came barreling down on him. Just before the beast’s horns gored him on the spot John stepped out of the way and with a blood curdling roar he sank the spear deep into the monsters hide. With every ounce of strength he had left he attacked the monster savagely. Again and again he stuck the spear deeper. Now covered in the brute’s warm blood he threw the weapon away and looked around the arena. A dark, booming voice surrounded him, laughing at him. 

“Well done little warrior. Look upon your prize.” came the voice. John looked down. Laying at his feet was the lifeless form of a lamb. 

“You’ve killed it.” boomed the voice, accusing and harsh. 

“No. No I thought it was- it was a monster!”

“No John Constantine. You are the monster.” 

The lamb flickered and became Zed, then Gary, and then Chas. Over and over his friends dead bodies lay before him. 

“It’s all my fault. I’ve- I killed them.” John screamed, falling to his knees. 

“It is your fault. Look what you’ve done little one.” came the voice, a velvety whisper in his ear now. “How can you live with yourself?” 

The weapon was in his hand again now. Except not a bloodied spear, but a handgun. 

“End this. They’d be better without you anyway John.” came the voice, his own voice. His finger lingered on the cold trigger, the muzzle pressed tightly against his temple. John closed his eyes, and waited for it to end.

     “John!” 

Chas found his friend curled up in a ball on the floor. The older man knelt down beside him. 

“Hey. You’re alright now.” he whispered, running his fingers up and down the demon hunter’s back. John clung to Chas, wrapping his arms around his neck and squeezing him tight. The dam had burst. Tears streamed down his face. 

“I thought I killed you. Killed Zed. Killed everyone.” he sobbed into Chas’s shoulder.

“No, no. Never. Shh now. It’s alright.” Chas whispered, holding him close. His fingers smoothed down the back of John’s hair. In the warmth of Chas’s embrace John began to calm down, inch by inch. Slowly realizing that the nightmare world was now farther and farther away he rose and strode out of the police station. Chas exchanged a few words with the officers on duty. His head was still humming and he only caught a few sentences explaining the “misunderstanding”. John kept his eyes to the ground as he shuffled off into the front seat of Chas’s taxi. The sky above was a dull gunmetal grey as the car puttered along the dragged out streets back to the millhouse. He laid his forehead against the cool glass and stared out at the passing scenery. Trees and tall grasses skipped and jumped out of their way as they sped past. The car was warm with tinny country music rolling out of the broken speakers.

“Zed’ll be glad to see you’re okay. She was worried.” 

The demon slayer nodded but he knew this wouldn’t be the end of this conversation. He could feel the man’s brown eyed gaze weigh heavily on him. He’d shaken Chas. He wasn’t supposed to do that anymore. 

“I- um.” John started, the words sticking to the back of his throat. 

“I know.” he said, turning his eyes back to the road ahead. Though words went unspoken between the two men John watched every passing blade of grass with the knowledge that tomorrow was another day. Fingers crossed to be better than the last. He knew that he was headed home. Headed back to the one safe place he knew the nightmares couldn’t reach him. 

 


End file.
